Bring On The DayQuil
by telling no tales
Summary: Poor Neal's start to an over all crappy day. A sick Neal plus A stressful case equals trouble. I DONT OWN ANYTHING! Rated T for language only. Set after Out of the box.
1. Nyquil

_**Chapter One: **__**NyQuil **_

For Neal, it had been a long day, well more accurately it had been a long _week._ Hell, it had been a long couple of _months_. _Kate_. Kate had died six weeks ago on Tuesday. Looking down at his watch he discovered that it was now technically Monday seeing it was 12:07 in the morning. So... Kate had been dead six weeks _tomorrow_. Neal shook his pounding head. _No_. He was _not_ thinking about _Kate_ right now_. Bed_, that was all that he was _going to think about_... Well NyQuil, then bed. He wanted to _sleep,_ something he hadn't accomplished lately. Between chasing bad guys until o' dark thirty, sitting in stake outs, and staying up all night with Peter to prefect his cover story he really hadn't had much time for sleep.

Oh yeah, and now he had this nice little head cold to go with it all. Making the occasions that he did find time to crash extremely unpleasant. A sinus headache the size of NY that wouldn't stop pounding, congestion that threatened to suffocated him, and over all soreness that made lying in any particular position for over a minute uncomfortable. As if all the freaking nightmares weren't enough by them selves, now the rest of his body felt as miserable as his mind did. Yes, he was _definitely _breaking out the NyQuil. By the time he made it all the way up the stairs and to his apartments door it was 12:11 Am.

Neal tugged off his jacket, for once not caring that he left his expensive blazer on the couch. Slowly he bent down and untied his loafers, groaning as his sore muscles and head protested the movement. Once done he used the last bit of his energy to poor a glass of water and down a some of the blessed NyQuil. It took Neal five false starts to actually get enough motivation and momentum to cross his apartment, to where his bed was awaiting him. Wasting no time he striped out of his work shirt and trousers, changing into the abandoned silk sleeping pants he had left there from the night before. Then he flicked off the lights and fell limply into his beloved bed. '_Sleep at last,' _was the last thought passing though the ex cons head before he passed into the gentle darkness.


	2. It's 4:03 & I WAS Asleep!

Chapter Two: _**Its 4:03 and I **__**was**__** asleep. **_

When Neal was jerked awake by the sound of forceful banging, it felt as though only moments had passed sense he had fallen into bed. Looking wildly around he saw that it was now 4:03 in the morning, and someone was banging at his apartment door. Before Neal had a chance to ponder who the invader of the peace might be her herd the unmistakable voice, of one Peter Burke and groaned. '_What the hell did he want?'_

**"NEAL OPEN UP!! **_**I've been waiting out here long enough!**_ _**We need to get moving!**_** NEAL OPEN UP NOW!!" **Neal tried to replay but found that his throat and evidently his voice were on strike. Grunting he stood and grasped at his bed as his apartment swayed. **"NEAL?? NEAL OPEN UP!"** Bellowed Peter, if Neal could have he wold have told the FBI agent to just _shut up, _and that he was coming... Traveling was just a little slow when your_ eyes_ are convinced that your floor was rocking like an ocean.

**"NEA..."** Peter was cut off mid shout when Neal opened the door. Neal tried to clear his throat, "Yes, Peter?" His voice was shot. His mind reeled as it processed the seemingly alien voice. '_Was that really him?' _His voice, what little of it he could hear, sounded ragged like he had been screaming and an octave lower then normal. '_Great.' _

"Uh...", apparently his partner was surprised by his voice as well, not to mention his over all disheveled appearance. But hay, what the hell did Peter _expect_ at four in the morning? Neal already dressed to the nines, shining with I enthusiasm, and ready to crack the next big case single handily? _No_, he wouldn't be ready to accomplish _any_ of that that on a _normal_ day without _at least_ two more hours of sleep and at _minimum_ two cups of June's amazing coffee. This morning though it would take _a lot_ more to get him feeling like_ anything _other then walking death.

"Uh... Can I come in?" Peter asked obviously confused. Neal swallowed and gave a grunt when his sore throat disapproved the action. But he nodded and stepped away from the door, wondering towards his kitchen, Peter followed. After his body failed at hacking up a lung, he stumbled drunkenly to a chair and sat down. Peter just stared at him. "You sound lovely." Observed the FBI agent. '_Yup, thank you captain obvious.'_ he thought. Though all he mustard up as a reply was a weak "Yeah." Peter looked flustered and guilty, and Neal,l who was well _beyond_ sympathy (after all he did drag a sick man out of bed at four o'clock in the morning) decided to rub it in. "Yeah I feel like_ crap_, haven't slept all week between prep for the case and this freaking cold. So are you going to tell me why you where pounding at my door at o' dark thirty, or can I go back to bed?" Neal coughed again and gave a slight groan as head twined.

"Yeah, we got a lead in the case... Jasmine Gordian called and left a message on, 'Mr. Asbury's' cell, she wants to have breakfast with you. Then have you view their merchandise, view your, er, well 'Mr. Canter's' art collection and possibly work out prices and trades. We would be able to see the entire inter workings of their art forgery operation. It's one of the best chances we've got, and I'm going to need you Neal. No one else has spoken with Jasmine yet except you." Peter explained. "Thus why you were banging at my door a few minutes ago?" Neal asked groggily. "Yeah, look Neal we've all been running short on sleep lately, I know this case has been running us raged, but we _need_ you for this one. I promises you can have as many sick days as you need after this. We just need to end this now. This might be our _only _chance." Neal could see the desperation and the guilt in Peters eyes and sighed. "At least you didn't say _cowboy up._" Peter laughed slightly. "Go get dressed." Neal just sat there for a moment. "_Neal?!_" Peter prodded. "Yeah yeah, I'm going... Just waitin' for the room to stop spinning."


End file.
